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who: Undertaker, Ciel Phantomhive, Vincent Phantomhive
what: Letting the cat out of the bag
when: Night of Nov 15th
where: Their home
warnings: Feels... lots of them

They had argued over it, as the three of them argued, and two against one, Undertaker hadn't been able to insist upon keeping the couch to himself to let the two nobles sleep in beds. Instead, they had worked out an arrangement of sorts, shuffling about as they felt necessary, and he had been willing to compromise.

Tonight, he took the smaller room upstairs while father and son took the master bedroom and nestled down for the night. With him, he had taken a book and a cup of his favorite tea to try and wind down for sleep, but it had been an evening when his mind hadn't wanted to quiet until he forced it to do so. Book aside, tea finished, Undertaker turned off the lamp on the nightstand, put the blanket over his head and tried to sleep.

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He could feel the words on his tongue just after Undertaker offered but he couldn't actually form them. It felt like the easy way out and when he thought about it, it was the easy way out. And he didn't like that. Not when it came to this, not when it came to his father. He did want to let him back in, even if it was hard.

After a bit more thought, he shook his head and let out a shaky breath. If they didn't do it now, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to face it. He'd find ways to avoid it, he knew he would, even if it risked his health a bit.

"I... need help." He mumbled before looking up at Undertaker and then back to the door as Vincent returned.

Bias was dangerous. Oh Vincent had it too. He didn't mean to be forceful - he didn't mean to be cruel - but to be awoken in the pitch black was like...

Well, it was a bit like being dead, he supposed. It was interesting when he thought of it that way and some of the tension in his chest was eased. He didn't fear dying - it was said and done as far as he was concerned - but he did fear those he loved dying. Or being hurt. Or used.

He also believed in souls and their fragility. If his son wasn't treating his as something precious, well, he had a problem with that.

But, first, tea. He entered the room, set down the tray on the bedside table and offered both of them a cup. The tea was chamomile - or a mixture of it - and he prayed it was soothing for all of them.

"No, you don't." he murmured in answer to the request - though it had obviously not been made to him, "I want you to drink your tea and relax. I'm sorry for snapping. I..." he claimed the chair Undertaker had been sitting in, wanting to give his son space if he had overstepped his boundaries, "I thought we were back in the manor. I must learn not to panic." he found a smile for them, leaning back, "Thank you for being a comfort, Undertaker. We must learn of each other again and that can't happen overnight."

He hadn't wanted to assume that tea would be made for all of them or else he would have asked for none, but it didn't surprise him with Vincent returned with not one, but three cups. Chamomile, in fact. A favorite of his, something he said nothing about as he accepted his cup with the hand he had not kept at its place on Ciel's back, nails still soothing through the boy's shirt. He knew the scent of it before the cup was even in hand.

With that tray came a change in the mood, one he was glad to see. That didn't surprise him either. Tea making, cleaning, anything of the like tended to be soothing, sometimes unexpectedly. At the very least, it had given Vincent time to think, and maybe that was just what they needed. The smile on his face, already there from a faint swell of pride in Ciel's decision, spread just a little more over his features. "Your son is my priority, milord, but we've not yet begun to address your issues." And Vincent had many, he was sure. He'd never seen the man like that before and opted to let it slide for now. "Still, I believe he wants to talk."

He glanced back down at the boy, waiting. "What will happen now?"

Ciel blinked, a little surprised at all three cups of tea, shifting so he could wrap both hands around a cup. He didn't want to spill any, especially since this was technically Undertaker's bed. It was hot, and a distraction, and he appreciated that. He didn't sip at it right away though, staring into it instead, and looking at the seal in his eye. Between the nightmare and the questions, it was hard not to think of when he'd made his deal.

"I don't know where to start..." He didn't look up from the tea, not at first. Where did one start with this kind of story? His father knew about the attack on the manor, Undertaker knew most of what happened with the cult. He'd have to explain watching his twin die, the loss of faith he'd suffered, the demon that found him...

"Should we go sit by the fireplace for this?" Somewhere they could be warm, and settle more comfortably than chairs and a bed. Although, it worked more as him trying to buy a couple minutes more.

"He is my priority too." his expression was uncharacteristically solemn, "I spoke out of worry and fear. I only realized belatedly that this must be difficult for him to relate to anyone." his gaze shifted to Ciel and he continued, voice gentle, "Start wherever you like. You needn't reveal it all tonight."

With a sip of tea to fortify him, he rose from the chair and held out a hand to his son.

"We can go wherever you like." if Ciel needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts, it was the least Vincent could give him, "I must admit...before you begin...I wondered if those who attacked us were wholly human. They moved with such speed and used such force. I hadn't a chance to reach you and your brother."

Edited 2017-11-17 08:02 (UTC)

He nodded - of course a son would be his father's priority - and looked back down to the young Earl. As much as Ciel had trained himself to be a man in their time, he still needed protecting. He still needed someone to help him through it all. "The fireplace sounds good. It's been getting colder of late and this tea is much better warm."

In truth, he had wondered himself how the assault on the Phantomhive manor had gone so well, so quickly, without even he having heard of it beforehand. That guilt still ate at him, but it was one he'd been well practiced at shoving aside. With the guilt, he shoved aside his curiosity at just who had done it. This world had ensured that for the time being, that was a mystery they could solve, and why should they when they had Ciel to look after.

And now, Ciel's story to hear.

He stood, gently pulling himself away from the boy, and offered a hand to help him stand with his tea. "Come, milord. Let's get you settled out in the living room."

Even after four years, Ciel was still no closer to finding the responsible party. If their goal had been to eradicate the Phantomhive's, to keep the Watch Dog from interfering in some scheme of theirs, they should have lashed out at Ciel by now. He'd made a name for himself, he'd solved every case the queen had given him, and yet nothing.

He held the cup carefully in one hand, reaching out and letting Undertaker help him up with the other. There was a brief glance at the eyepatch left by the pillows and decided against taking it now. It wouldn't serve any real purpose now. Undertaker knew about it, his father would know about it soon as well.

Once the three of them settled in the living room, Ciel set his cup down and pulled his knees to his chest. Almost protectively. Just as he had in the cages.

Recounting that night, that month, wouldn't be hard. He could remember it all with perfect clarity, nothing ever faded from that period of time, eve if it was sometimes hard to remember just how his parents sounded when they got a scolding, or the servants.

He waited for Ciel to rise and head to the living room before he grabbed the abandoned eyepatch. Blankets and pillows could be comforting. Toys could too. If this piece of fabric brought his son peace of mind, it should not be discarded.

Vincent pressed the eyepatch into Ciel's hand once they were in the living room, bending to kiss his temple. He loved him, no matter what, and he was ready to listen. The seat he chose was nearby, so that if he was needed - for comfort or for stability - he was ready to give both.

"Take it slow." he crossed his legs and set his teacup aside, "Both you and Ciel were taken from the manor... For some reason, those beasts needed children." he could guess at why - it was clearly engraved on his son's eye, "I'm so sorry."

While Ciel settled himself on the couch and Vincent settled near him, he put his own drink on the table and went to fetch a blanket for the boy. Something soft, something thick and comforting that he knew Ciel would appreciate. The stress of the story would have him weary before long and once he had said what he would, the warmth and softness would carry him easily into sleep, unlike the first attempt.

That retrieved, he settled in on the couch at the other end and offered the blanket to help Ciel ready himself for the terrible ride he was about to take. He thought to get a second for Vincent, but the fire place was his next stop. He could add another log to it and set it ablaze and they would be warm, the three of them, in no time.

But not now. Not yet. Now, he sat near the boy and let Ciel work out how he wanted to open this.

He forced a smile at the kiss to his temple. It was nice, it was just hard to really smile right then. Already, he could feel the weight of those events weighing on him again but the comfort and safety of their new home, having his father there, alive and well, having Undertaker close, it helped.

The blanket did too, and he didn't hesitate to wrap it around himself as an extra shield almost. He settled into it and let his muscle relax, knees lowering to just sit cross-legged on the couch.

"There's this thing called idle curiosity and it's got deep pockets." Ciel said softly, more for his father than anything. It wasn't just that they needed children, but it had paid off so well for the culprits.

"No one came for us. It was almost an hour after Gramps said he'd get us. We had fallen asleep, we didn't hear anything, and no one came. So Ciel went looking. And then I went looking." His eyes were a little distant already. "I tripped over one of the servants. He was just... leaning against a wall. All the servants were dead. The tree and the presents, everything was covered in blood.

"All the servants were dead. All of them. And then I found you and mother. And Sebastian. And there was so much blood, Sebastian wouldn't wake up. I found Gramps then but someone stabbed him and then grabbed me so I couldn't see. He lived though."

And hadn't caught sight of the responsible party either, he'd asked when he'd returned to London. And since he and Tanaka were the only ones still alive that had been there...

"When they sold us to the cultists, they talked about how rare of find it was. They paid enough to get more than two people before they took me and Ciel. I suppose... because we were twins." He reached out and picked up his tea for something to occupy his hands. And then took a slow sip.

"We were there a month. They didn't treat their lambs well. It's why I don't like being touched. I remember one of the other children in our cage died. He promised to protect me. And... then..." A pause, and 'Ciel' took a breath. "They needed a lamb to sacrifice one night. So they took Ciel. And killed him. And I...

I lost my faith. What kind of God lets that happen? Something heard me. And he came. He offered me more power than anyone else, all I had to do was make a contract with him." And there he stopped, already shaking. It had hurt. He could remember the warm and sticky feeling of blood flowing from his eye down his face. They hadn't cleaned it or bandaged it until they were well on the way to England, no one could see the demons mark. He couldn't have afforded that kind of stigma.

Earl Phantomhive did not mourn the loss of servants. They were well-aware of the risk they took in his household. Tanaka had told Ciel as much and it was true. Vincent reserved his emotions for the small gathering that he counted as true friends and family. Thus it might be a shock to some who only knew him at a distance that, as his son spoke, real tears welled in his eyes. He did nothing to halt their journey down his cheeks, either, and he soon abandoned his chair to kneel in front of his boy.

His hands were gentle as he cupped Ciel's face, his fingers smoothing over dark strands and pale, soft cheeks. It wasn't difficult for him to remember this child as a baby. He had guarded him, then, like a ferocious hound. Or so he had thought.

"I can't imagine your pain and your fear." he shook his head slowly, "I do not blame you or judge you. In your position, I would have likely done the same." for a chance to tear out his enemy's throat, "Tell me the terms of this contract? I suspect the one you refer to is...demonic? He deserves his due for accepting your brother's sacrifice."

It made him sick to think of his children being tortured and tormented! Vincent was pale and, as he moved to sit at Ciel's side, he looked worn. Worn, but determined. The Phantomhives were not defeat - only wounded.

Part of this story, he knew already. What he didn't know by now, he gave no reaction to as Ciel told his terrible tale. Wrapped in his blanket, Undertaker watched him, sitting silently beside as the night went on. The couch gave faint jerks and twitches from Ciel's trembling, but he let the boy handle himself, keeping a hand on the empty space between them if the boy needed it.

He was right there and he wasn't going anywhere. When he did move, it was only to look up as Vincent approached, taken with emotion he hadn't heard in the man ever. They wouldn't see the anger in him, the disappointment in himself at not having been able to prevent any of this. He was the Earl's informant, among his inner circle of business associates, and as far as his reach extended, even he'd known nothing until it was all far too late. In their world now, he tended the graves of those who had fallen as a result. Maybe it was meant to be that way, maybe he never was to know about it and there was nothing else he could have done but clean up the mess afterward, as he always did. But that didn't ease his own fury, kept quietly concealed under unnaturally green eyes and pale hair.

Despite the words, the gestures, the heaviness in the room, he did and said nothing, remaining only a presence in it all for the time being, ready to relay anything if needed, what of it he could.

Edited 2017-11-17 14:53 (UTC)

One hand slipped off the cup and out of the blanket as he spoke to grip Undertaker's. It helped his shaking some. And when Vincent approached, he tensed but relaxed quickly when he felt his face being cupped. He hadn't really been in this position in a long time, it was uncomfortable but also reassuring.

His father didn't judge him for his choice. If Ciel really cried anymore, this probably would have triggered some tears.

The question regarding the terms of his contract made him pause though. It was, ultimately, his choice. And he knew that but he still glanced to Undertaker. As if reassuring himself of the reapers support. And then he pursed his lips and took a deep breath. He could do that.

"Revenge. On the people responsible for our suffering. In return, he'll devour my soul."

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